The Stranger in Storybrook

A/N: I noticed there was no Bleach crossover done with Once Upon A Time. This can't be, so I decided to write the first Bleach/Once Upon A Time x-over. As usual, I don't own either. Pity, but there you have it. Thanks to Cold_

Rain, not unusual for Maine, began to fall softly, quickly becoming a deluge as he stepped from the portal and alighted on top of the clock tower, the night cloaking him from everything. There, high above, Kuchiki Byakuya watched people scurrying into the nearest building as the rain sluiced down, soaking everyone except him. He stared down at the square and beyond it a frown etching itself into his handsome face. There was something wrong with this town—seriously wrong. It was… his blue-gray eyes narrowed in thought as he groped for the reason. It was dreary—the town was dreary for all of its idyllic background that was disturbingly like a story.

Or a fairy tale.

A dark and grim one.

But weren't all fairy tales grim and dark in their original, unedited versions?

Something magical and malignant in nature pressed in on him, trying to conform him, assimilate him. He shoved back irritably. He wasn't much for becoming part of the social norm, thanks. Dimly, he recognized the push as a curse—it must have been what blanketed this odd little town—and frowned, projecting a thought towards it and hopefully its creator: He was the leader, not the follower. Keep pushing, I'll hunt you down. With one last irritable shove, the tendrils withdrew, carrying his promise with it, and sent the curse-caster living in the town's largest house into an unexplained rage. The rain continued to fall and continued to miss him. Dark and dreary with lousy weather, Byakuya opined of the small town. This was someone's idea of a happy ending? Humans were odd creatures. Humans that gained a little bit of power? They were nuisances.

He wasn't there to judge anyone's warped desires. She, perverted creature that she was, was not slated to die soon. She was not his concern and more was the pity for the residents of this town, he decided. He turned and his eyes narrowed further. Soon she'd be the one coming up to the chopping block. And when that day came, he personally wanted to be the one to escort her to the gates of hell when they rose from the ground and the guardians reached out to take her screaming. Byakuya imagined that she wouldn't scream until said guardians reached out and wrapped her in their devastating embrace, leeching her of her strength, her power, her vitality, and began their terrifying descent into the ground again where they belonged. When she was stripped away bare of everything she was, leaving only vulnerability, the gates would open, drawing her inside. Then she'd begin screaming. Then she'd beg. When she tried to escape with no avail, she'd finally understand that there was no escape. But that wasn't going to happen today or tomorrow so he turned away. There was, however, one who was going to die and soon; that person was his concern and his only reason for being in this frightening little town. He stared at the single light in the apartment thoughtfully.

Soon.

The rain abated to a steady staccato against the ground and he launched himself off the clock tower, missing the curtains in the large house twitching closed in a hurry. Glancing up at the clock one last time, Byakuya turned and walked down the sidewalk, his reconnaissance done. It wasn't particularly late, but thanks to the rainstorm, the streets were devoid of life. He pitied the person who owned the yellow Volkswagen bug—they'd left their windows partially down, allowing the car's interior to get soaked. Just as he thought that the streets were desolate, a brave soul opened the door of the pawn shop and stepped out, opening an umbrella. Closing the door, he locked it for the evening, and pocketed the keys in his overcoat, beginning his trip home. Though he couldn't be seen, Byakuya decided against stepping through the man, mainly because even though he looked human, the Sixth Division Captain wasn't sure that he actually was. Besides, stepping though a person was an unpleasant situation for both parties. He stepped around him, passing him by.

Mr. Gold stopped and turned back, looking into the gloom. He rubbed his eyes and peered again. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it seemed… darker and more foreboding; the gloom even more insistent on existing. If he titled his head to the side and squinted just so, he could make out what he thought was a man walking steadily down the sidewalk. Walking confidently and nonchalantly through the rain with no umbrella whatsoever—didn't he worry about a cold, pneumonia?

"Hello?" he called.

The figure didn't pause and a second later was swallowed by the dense dark which dispersed after absorbing him. Giving his head a shake, Mr. Gold turned and resumed his walk home, ruminating on what he thought he saw. It could have been nothing; it could have been something. But if he were to say… he'd have sworn that he'd seen death.

Home, he decided. And a few stiff drinks to be on the safe side.

…

In the large house in his room that overlooked the square, a small boy peeked out of his curtains again, only to find the man gone from the top of the clock tower and the streets. He tried to process what he'd seen and wondered if he shouldn't call his mom—his real mom—and let her know. Henry decided against it. What could she do? She might not believe him. But… he was sure… that whatever that man was, he was the one who'd angered his adoptive mother into tossing a glass into the fireplace and going on a strange rampage where she broke so many things! It had taken her the better part of an hour to return to her normal state. What he couldn't process and what his book couldn't tell him, was what the man was. Not who, but what. To Henry, it seemed as if he was something that shouldn't exist, but did, and that made it all the scarier. He turned out the lights and paused to make sure his curtains were shut tight before retiring for the night.

…

Byakuya watched bored as the two women scuffled and he had no clue what the man who called himself 'sheriff' was doing—besides watching, that was. He dared to think that Rukia could have done much, much better in a scuffle— but then, these two weren't Rukia. They weren't trained warriors, although the blonde-haired woman was trained in her own right. He sighed, annoyed. Why had he agreed to collect this soul again? Ah, yes, Renji was sick. Sick enough that he hadn't put up much of a fight when Byakyua had frog-marched him into Captain Unohana's capable hands—at least, he hadn't fought until Captain Unohana led him away to a sick room. Then he started to fight, begging not to be there. He understood the sentiment: Captain Unohana Retsu could be a scary person in her own right. Her latest report concerning his vice captain was only somewhat encouraging: Abarai Renji was on the mend and grumpy, and angry, and felt betrayed by his own captain for making him stay in the Fourth Division's care when it was just a goddamn cold! Just a goddamn cold turned out to be bronchitis—quickly heading towards pneumonia; something he'd picked up from the human world in his gigai; he hadn't thought it was possible for a dead soul to get a sickness from the human world of the living, but Renji proved otherwise. He wondered if they'd tied Renji down yet. But enough woolgathering; the scuffle was winding down and he had a job to do. He followed his quarry and waited for the exact moment knowing it was coming.

And it was painful as his heart was crushed to dust while his physical one suffered from a heart attack that shouldn't have happened given that he was in good shape and in perfect health.

Unable to stand it any longer, Byakuya reached down, strong, elegant fingers gripped and gave a yank, pulling the huntsman out of his earthly shell and free from the pain wracking his body. The man looked down at himself and shook his head.

"Henry was right." Byakuya flicked a disinterested look at him. "Who'd have thought?" He studied Byakuya with frank curiosity. "And who might you be?"

Byakuya raised a brow. He didn't like to give his name. "I'm the reaper here to collect your soul."

Graham stared at him. "That's it?" he asked. "You've no name?"

"You're dead. Why do you care what my name is?"

"Seems a bit impersonal, doesn't it? Collecting a soul and giving no name?"

"You won't remember me after I send you on."

"Then it doesn't matter, does it?"

He guessed it didn't. What was the harm, after all? "I am Kuchiki Byakuya, the Sixth Division Captain."

"Well, I'd say nice to meet you, but in light of the current situation, that would be a lie. So thank you for telling me your name." He paused. "Am I really dead?"

"You are. Your scorned lover killed you."

Graham snorted. "You don't say. Jealous, manipulative bitch."

Another brow. "And yet you slept with her; acted as if you were her lap dog. If anything, I would call you her bitch."

"Stopped when Emma became my deputy, didn't I?" Graham asked irritably.

"Is that enough?"

The fight left the huntsman and he deflated. "No. No, it's not." He aimed a self-depreciating smile at Byakuya. "No good deed goes unpunished and the road to hell is paved with good intentions."

"Is it?" Byakuya asked. Funny. The road to hell is usually paved with evil deeds like his former lover's doings.

Graham shrugged. "So they say." He fell silent, watching Emma deal with his body and his untimely death. "What a girl. I can see where Henry gets it from. I… was actually able to feel with her. Will she be okay?"

Byakuya shrugged, not particularly interested. "What do you care? You're dead. You can't help her now."

Graham glared at his collector. "Anyone ever told you that you suck at motivational speeches?"

"You forget: I am not here to motivate you. I am here to protect the balance and collect your soul."

"What happens if I decide to stay?" the huntsman challenged.

Byakuya gestured to the long chain stretched between them and started (or ended) with the last few links in his heart. "Watch," he instructed.

Graham did. Just when he was about to turn away bored, noticed something…peculiar. One of the links had grown a mouth and devoured the link before it. He felt a small twinge in his chest and he put up a hand, rubbing the area.

"What was that?"

"Your chain of life has begun to devour itself. I estimate nine months, maybe ten before it's completely gone."

"And what happens when it's gone?"

"You become a monster. And then I or another like me comes back to cleanse you."

"I don't want to go to hell!" Graham said his voice filled with desperation.

"Most don't," Byakuya agreed. "But I don't know if that's where you'll go, either."

"But you're here to collect me."

"That doesn't mean I judge you," Byakuya said, putting slight emphasis on 'I.'

"Oh, then you're not the executioner?"

"I didn't say that, either. All I said was I don't judge you."

"Then how does this work?"

"We call it a Soul Burial. That allows you to go where you belong. You can't stay here," Byakuya told him when the huntsman hesitated. "You're dead. What can you do now but become a nuisance?"

Graham sighed. "Don't have much of a choice, do I?"

He winced as another link was devoured.

"The closer to the end the more painful," Byakuya told him quietly. "A former captain once theorized that it was the pain that caused the transformation from a ghost to a hollow. Much as I don't want to admit it, I think he was right. Even though you're dead, you can feel that pain. And the worse it gets, the more it will drive you mad. The more that happens, the more you begin to reside on your baser instincts until you are no longer. All that's left is a monster."

"And then you kill me again," Graham said ironically.

"And then I, or another like me, return to cleanse you, because in the end, we're just preserving the balance. You'll start to devour humans," Byakuya told him, feeling no sympathy for the green pallor his ghostly skin picked up, "people with souls and hearts to replace what you've lost. You're a bona fide fiend then. Do you want that to happen? Think about her," he said, pointing to Emma. "She might be the first person you go after."

Graham stayed silent for a few moments, processing what Byakuya had said. He didn't want to turn into a monster. He didn't want to leave without saying goodbye to a select few, either. There were so many things he needed to say! Then again… couldn't this bloke tell people his messages? It didn't matter if the receivers believed that he'd said that or not; his message would be out there.

"Can you deliver messages?" he asked, watching the captain with curiosity.

Byakuya sighed. Why was it always this way? "If I must."

"Tell you what," Graham said. "If you deliver my messages, I'll let you do what you need to preserve this 'balance' of yours."

"A deal?" Byakuya asked incredulously. "You're kidding. Do I look like I make deals?"

"I'm not kidding. It's only a few and then you do what you need. If not, I'll make it difficult for you."

"Promises, promises," the reaper muttered. He couldn't blame the man. They almost always tried. "If you decide to fight me, you'll lose."

There was no certainty or conviction—just bored knowledge, Graham knew. And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if he truly decided to try, he would lose painfully.

"But it would cause you a minute amount of difficulty, yes? Energy you'd have to expend just to exorcise me. Hatred from me, too; I could try to find you in the afterlife and haunt you. Really, it's just simpler to deliver my messages and then send me on, don't you think?"

Byakuya's eyes narrowed. "Your word then, that once I do this for you, you won't say another word. You'll allow me to send you on peacefully."

"My word."

"Then let's hear these messages of yours."

"Tell Emma that I wish her luck and love; I really do want her to have the role of Sheriff. It's important for her to be in that position, I think, though I can't really put my finger on why. Tell Ruby that I enjoyed flirting and verbally sparing with her. Tell Mr. Gold he's a miserable miser, but thanks for lending me a home."

"Anyone else?" Bykauya asked sarcastically.

"Henry. Tell Henry that I said thanks, and I'm sorry I didn't believe him for a long, long time. I hope he and Emma succeed with whatever. And, last but not least… Regina." Graham smirked. "Tell her…" He leaned in close and whispered in the captain's ear. "That about sums it up."

…

Now came the fun part and he meant that quite facetiously. Now he had to don a gigai and deliver the huntsman's messages. He hated with a passion stuffing himself into a fake body. But he couldn't very well do this as a Shinigami. In the woods, far from the human eye, he popped a piece of soul candy and allowed himself to be ensconced inside a hated gigai. He could feel his power being contained, limited and absolutely detested the feeling. Modern clothing: casual boots, khaki pants, a non-descript, white button down shirt, and tan colored jacket, replaced his Shinigami uniform; the only thing that remained were the kenseikan in his hair. Sighing, he stepped out of the woods and decided to simply get this last task over and done with. He couldn't see Senbonzakura, but he was there. His presence was a comfort to Byakuya.

This time, he moved quickly to avoid the rain and mostly succeeded. What he'd gained instead was an audience. In Soul Society he was used to it as the head of the Kuchiki House and a widower. Here in the human world? It was just plain creepy. The denizens of Storybrook had stopped and were staring, pointing at him and whispering amongst themselves.

Ruby, according to the memories of the late sheriff worked at Granny's Diner—was, in fact, Granny's granddaughter and a problem child. She'd loved to flirt—with just about anything male, Sheriff Graham being no exception. Graham hadn't minded casually flirting with her, either; or giving her the riot act when she'd gone out of bounds. He stopped, allowing the rain to beat down softly as he scanned for the diner and came up empty. He sighed. He'd have to ask for directions. Much as he hated to do so, it was better than wandering around until he was soaked to the skin. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he strolled over to the couple across the street that seemed frozen in place.

David and Mary-Margaret came to a stop and stared. Who was that man? He was totally new. And strangers never came to Storybrook—ever; Mary-Margaret couldn't remember the last time she'd actually seen a stranger—Emma didn't count, but she couldn't explain why. And… before Mary-Margaret could stop her traitorous brain from thinking it, he was totally gorgeous—even the weird things in his hair didn't detract from his beauty. Those shoulders, broad and strong; trailing down to a trim waist and legs that were as powerful as his arms and chest, and a face made by the gods, it seemed… no. Oh, no. She could look and appreciate, but not touch and she didn't really want to touch—he was like an ice sculpture, in a way, breath-taking from a distance, devastating up close. She had a feeling that he'd remove whatever hand touched him, anyhow. But appreciate she did, because he was headed this way. David stepped subtly in front of her.

"Excuse me," he said, his English only slightly accented. He frowned only slightly at the protective way the tall man stepped in front of his dark-haired lady friend. "I'm looking for Granny's Diner. Am I going the right way?"

They both stared at him, a stranger asking for directions to Granny's Diner. Mary-Margaret was the first to recover from his startling presence. "Yes." She smiled at him. "Yes," she repeated. "Go down the street," she said, half-turning and pointing to show him the way. "Go down the street and when you get to the end, make a left. Two blocks down after that. You won't be able to miss it." She studied him for a moment. "Are you visiting?" she asked.

"In a sense," he told her, stepping back. "Thank you," he told them both. He started walking again when her voice stopped him.

"Stranger, what's your name?"

He sighed and frowned when Senbonzakura snickered at him. Twice in so many days!

Enough. "Kuchiki," he told her, giving his family name. "And you two," he said, "are David Nolan and Mary-Margaret Blanchard—or Snow White and Prince Charming." That last bit was too low for either to really understand.

Mary-Margaret looked at David, bafflement plain on her face. "That's right. It's nice to meet you… Mr. Kuchiki."

He turned and began to walk again, down the street and to the light where he turned left and walked two blocks until he came to the diner. He stood outside for a moment, observing, then, walking in and pausing again, searching. It was half full. Either people cooked for themselves, or ate here, he assumed. He wasn't here to eat or socialize. He was here to deliver a missive and move on to the next. He took a seat at the bar. From Graham's memories, the busty young lady that sashayed over was Ruby—if the red in her hair wasn't enough of a clue.

"What can I get you?" she asked, eyeing him appreciatively.

He thought briefly about tea, but decided against it. "Whiskey," he ordered. "Five fingers."

She blinked at him, clearly surprised. He understood why: that was a lot of liquor and it was early afternoon. Nevertheless, she pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and poured him five fingers, setting the glass down in front of him. He picked it up and took a sip, appreciating the way the whiskey slid down his throat in a slow burn. It wasn't sake, but it seemed to be the next best thing. He took another sip, watching from the corner of his eye the traffic that came in to see The Stranger in Storybrook. It sucked as a title and he didn't see it making the best seller list anytime soon.

He took another pull and regarded Ruby, who watched him with avid interest. "Graham… wanted you to know that flirting and verbally sparring with you was fun."

Tears sprang to her eyes, shimmering and luminescent at his statement.

He drained the glass and set it down. "How much do I owe you for the drink?"

Wordlessly, she shook her head, not trusting her voice. "On the house," she finally managed. "I should be angry with you for that statement, but I just… can't be. That's something he'd say."

"That's something he did say," Byakuya corrected, quitting the stool. "Never forget that you were a source of enjoyment for him and the pain will pass."

"Thank you," she whispered.

He left the diner. One down, four to go. Who next, he wondered. The little boy walked right up to him. Henry, he knew. He'd do, Byakuya decided, looking at him as the boy stared back with avid curiosity.

"You're new," he said, before Byakuya could speak.

"Actually, I'm generations old," he said, walking by.

"Hey! Wait up!" Henry called, rushing after him.

Byakuya ignored his command, continuing on. Henry hurried after him. "What does that mean?" he asked.

"What does what mean?" the Shinigami asked, never slowing his pace, eyes ahead.

"What you said, being generations old."

Byakuya shrugged. "I am old. Very old."

"But you're new to Storybrook."

"Am I?" he wondered. Perhaps he was. Death was an unfamiliar specter, he decided, in a cursed town. And really, how did that work? Curses usually involved death at some point or another, right? Look at the late Sheriff.

"What I can't figure out," Henry said, "is how you got here. And where you came from."

"Is it important?" Byakuya asked, slowing down when he reached the playground Regina had built.

"I dunno. Maybe." Henry watched him again with the same avid interest Ruby had shown. "I saw you," he announced, watching the man's face for any sort of reaction.

"Did you now?" he murmured. "And when was that?"

"Last night—I saw you on top of the clock tower."

"I see."

Still no reaction to his statements. Henry decided that if this man ever decided to play poker, he'd win hands down.

"What were you doing up there?"

"Reconnaissance."

"Reconnaissance? For what?"

Byakuya hesitated but said, "The Sheriff. He died. I collected his soul." It was a minor lie; he wasn't worried that the boy would find out otherwise. "That's what I do. I'm a Shinigami—you all would call me a Soul Reaper."

A Soul Reaper. "Was it painful for him?"

What a profound question, Byakuya thought.

"Because, see, my mom—my real mom—won't tell me anything, even though she was there."

"There's a reason for that. But yes, it was painful for him. Your adoptive mother crushed his heart to dust." Henry gasped and tears started to gather in his eyes. Byakuya thought he should feel some sort of… empathy for the boy, but at the end of the day, what did it really matter? "He had a message for you, however."

"He did?" he asked in a tiny voice.

"Graham said 'thanks and he's sorry for not believing you for the longest time. He hopes that you and Emma succeed."

"He said that? Really?"

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. "Do you really think it's worth it for me to lie about that?" When Henry shook his head frantically, the shinigami nodded with satisfaction. "Good. Message delivered."

"Hey wait!" Henry called, before Byakuya got too far.

"What?" he snapped, his voice edged with impatience.

"Where did you come from? And how did you get here?"

The Sixth Division Captain sighed. "I came from Soul Society, the Court of Pure Souls. And I came here by portal. And no," he continued when he saw Henry's eyes light up with interest, "you can't come with me when I leave. Soul Society is where Graham went. Don't be in such a hurry to join him."

Turning, he left the boy alone in the woods. He'd take the soon-to-be-Sheriff next. Especially since by now she'd heard that there was a stranger in town. He didn't know why anyone would bother—they'd forget that he'd ever been here once he'd passed on his messages.

It turned out that he didn't need to go to Emma Swan; she came to him, car, handcuffs, and all. He supposed that if he were into kink, it'd be interesting. As it was, he was only slightly annoyed. "Is there a problem, Sheriff?"

"Deputy," she corrected automatically.

"Ah. Is there a problem, Deputy Swan?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't recall giving you my name, you know."

Byakuya shrugged. "Maybe I heard it in Granny's Diner."

"Maybe you did." Emma wondered though. Ruby had called her and told her that a stranger in town was delivering messages from Graham. "I hear you're delivering messages."

"Sadly."

It was that one word that made her blink and snort out an amused chuckle. Her suspicions eased slightly. He looked a bit odd, and she definitely thought he was dangerous, but that wasn't directed at her or Storybrook. Plus, that one word had a loud peal of truth attached to it.

"Did he… is he… angry?" Emma asked.

He titled his head to the side as if to study her. "He's not, no. And yes, he did have a message for you, too."

"He did?" she asked with complete shock.

"Yes. Would you rather hear it here or in your office?"
"Office, definitely."

"Might I ask for a lift then?"

She gave him a tight smile. "Hop in."

…

Emma stared at him. She didn't bother asking if what he was saying was true; she knew it was. The sincerity of it rang boldly in the tiny space. She gave him a wry smile. "Graham kissed me and after that, started to remember himself, the huntsman who was hired by the Evil Queen to track down and kill my mother."

"Mary-Margaret Blanchard," he supplied. "Snow White."

Now Emma was surprised. "Yes," she nodded. "Her. How did you know?"

"I know a lot of things, Ms. Swan. It's only natural, yes? You look like her; you look like your father, David Nolan-otherwise known as Prince Charming. It's a perfect harmony, but you have your father's, coloring and your mother's eyes. I imagine that those two see you every day and it just doesn't click because that curse blanketing this town prevents it from clicking."

"Henry told Graham—showed him—who he used to be."

"After that you got into it with the Evil Queen/Mayor of this dismal town, and blah, blah, blah, Graham died of a strange heart attack," Byakuya finished. "Ms. Swan, I'm not here to help you get rid of the Evil Queen. I'm delivering Graham's last messages and then sending his soul on. He wishes you luck and love and wants you to beat the Evil Queen."

"Well, you certainly are direct."

"Am I?" he asked, thinking that Rukia would disagree.

"You are."

"No, Ms. Swan. I'm just delivering messages from a deceased soul. That's not 'me.' I've delivered my message to you. I'll take my leave, Sheriff Swan."

"I told you, it's Deputy."

"For now."

Emma sat at her desk, wondering what he knew. She agreed with the assessment that he wasn't as direct as she'd originally claimed. He was only delivering messages, after all. She wondered who the next person to receive a message was. She shrugged and began to work on her paper work, deciding that really, it wasn't her business.

When he stepped out of the Sheriff's Office, a camera flash temporarily blinded him.

"What the hell?" he bit out in his native Japanese.

"Sydney Glass, Storybrook Daily Mirror. You're the stranger in town—Kuchiki right? Hey what language was that?" he asked, snapping a few more photos. "And what brings you to Storybrook? Just sight-seeing? Maybe a romantic interlude?"

Byakuya actively thought about taking the camera and then decided it didn't matter, anyhow. They wouldn't remember him once he left and the pictures would be so garbled that they'd be useless. "That language would be the language of my boot connecting to your skull and crushing it—very painful for you. Want to try for a third?"

Sydney opened his mouth and thought better of saying anything when Byakuya turned a wintery glare onto him.

"Sydney Glass, you said? I have nothing for you, Man in the Mirror. I'd stay out of my sight, were I you." He walked away, leaving Sydney to scurry back to the paper.

Back at Storybrook Daily Mirror, Sydney set about writing the article of the paper. As he drafted, he wondered about the man. What had he called Sydney? Man in the Mirror? What the hell did that mean? Did he know that Sydney had an inexplicable hatred of mirrors? Sydney shook his head. Enough—back to work; he continued to draft his article. He'd deal with the photos later—the camera was digital, so all he had to do was tweak the photos a bit, (maybe a few photo-shopped prints of him and Emma Swan) and then place and print. Satisfied with the rough draft, he placed a call to Regina to tell her about the man in Storybrook—the stranger.

"Hello?"

"I just wanted to let you know that the rumors are true: there's a stranger in Storybrook. I saw him as he was leaving the Sheriff's Office."

Regina took a deep breath, exhilarated. A stranger, here in her town. Now if she could figure out what he wanted!

"And what did he want?"

"I asked, but he didn't answer."

"Did you ask Ms. Swan?"

"Not yet, but I asked Ruby and she said that she doesn't remember what he told her."

"Doesn't remember, right," she said derisively. "Whom else did he talk to?"

"He talked to Henry."

Regina took a deep breath, trying to quell the anger that surged through her. He'd talked to her son. She'd have to find out from Henry what he'd said. Not that he'd tell her. He was under the impression that she was the evil queen from his story book. Damn that Mary-Margaret Blanchard.

"Where is he going now?"

"I think he was headed to Mr. Gold's Pawn Shop."

"I'm on my way there. And you were going to do…?" she trailed off.

"I," he said emphasizing the word, "am writing an article. The Stranger in Storybrook. What do you think? It's got a nice ring to it, don't you agree? And seeing as he spoke to Henry and then Deputy Swan, even got a ride from her to the station, think that he could be a lover? Henry's father, perhaps?"

Regina smiled though he couldn't see it. "Absolutely."

She hung up the phone. It was a good thing that Sydney never saw her smile: it was twisted, ugly, and full of malice. She didn't care who the stranger was. He'd defied her curse so easily that he'd have to leave, or suffer something painful. She grabbed the basket of apples that she'd picked at home and left the house.

…

Byakuya found Mr. Gold's Pawnshop easily. He'd walked by it his first time here. He went in and simply stood there, hands in his pockets and looked around at all of the fanciful things crowded in the store. Rukia would have liked some of the things here. Maybe he'd pick something up for her. Then his eyes alighted on the two dolls sitting side-by-side and his eyes went flat. Horrible—those were humans turned into grotesque effigies. He didn't like seeing them, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do to help them, either. He wasn't here to help this town, he reminded himself.

"Can I help you?"

Byakuya turned to see Mr. Gold. In the half-light of the store, he saw the man's alternate persona etched over the human façade standing before him and he imagined that this creature knew exactly everything that was going on in this strange little town and hadn't forgotten anything.

"Mr. Gold?"

"Yes, that's right. Can I help you?" he asked, repeating the question.

"Perhaps." He wandered around to the displays and looked around. It was Rukia's birthday soon, wasn't it, he wondered. Barring that it wasn't, a token gift wasn't something unusual. Maybe he could find something here while he passed on his message. He studied the unicorns and other faerie creatures before nixing the idea of those. There didn't have to be something here in this town specifically that he bought for her.

And then he saw it. Something that she'd absolutely love and she could add it to the hilt of Sode no Shirayuki. A rabbit cut from crystal; disgustingly cute (which was one prominent reason why he was sure she'd love it) but best of all, it looked like it had been frozen. And that was perfect because Sode no Shirayuki was an ice zanpaktou. He picked it up, letting it dangle between his fingers. It caught the light, he realized watching it twist, turn, and scatter droplets of light all over.

"I think I've found it."

"Wonderful. I take the Japanese Yen," Mr. Gold said.

Byakuya smiled grimly. "I bet you do, imp."

"Oh, now that hurts."

But he didn't deny the claim, Byakuya noticed. Which told him that this creature remembered and even knew what the deal with this strange little town was. "Sure. How much?" he asked, holding the charm up.

"Eight thousand yen, please."

Byakuya looked askance at the memento. "One hundred dollars for this?" he asked. Actually, that was a little less, but who was counting the small change?

"Shall we barter, then?"

The Sixth Division Captain narrowed his eyes at the man.

"What? I'm a business man, after all."

"Five bucks and… I'll tell you what Graham said about you."

"That crystal rabbit was carved by a very famous artist. It's worth ten times that amount."

"According to you. And you're a businessman, after all," Byakuya said, tossing the man's own words back at him. "Five dollars and Graham's message."

Mr. Gold raised an eyebrow at the other man. "I find that odd. Graham's dead, lad. Happened just recently, too. Shame; he was a good man."

The man's eyes narrowed further. Lad, indeed. "Cut the 'lad' crap. I'm older than you are. And yes, Graham is dead and yes it's recent. Not that I think you have a reason to know, but I was there; I'm the one that pulled him from his body."

"Did you now?" Rumplestiltskin murmured. "So then you're what? Death that rides a pale horse?"

His stare was icy. "Do I look like a cloaked skeleton?" he demanded.

"No, you certainly don't. What are you then, my good sir?"

"You'd call me a Soul Reaper. I'm the Sixth Division Captain and no, I'll not give you my name. Five bucks and Graham's message," he repeated. "Do we have deal?"

Rumplestiltskin regarded him curiously. Normally, he made the deals. It seemed the situations were reversed.

"If not, then it doesn't matter," Byakuya said, putting the charm back. "It won't matter if he's angry with me for sending him on and not passing his message. I'm no messenger anyhow." He turned to leave and Mr. Gold made a split second decision.

"Deal, Captain of the Sixth Division. Five dollars and Graham's message. I'll even throw in a nice box, seeing as it's not for you. A lady friend perhaps?"

"You could say that."

"This message," Gold began.

"Graham said 'thank you for lending me a home and you are a miserable miser."

Gold paused. "I hardly think that deal of ours was worth my while."

"On the contrary. The message is from one already dead. You wouldn't have received it or the feelings behind it if I hadn't delivered it."

He was right, Rumplestiltskin realized. The words the man gave him were full of wry humor and exasperation, much like Graham acted when he dealt with Gold.

"Some Shinigami won't," he told the imp. "But he and I made a deal: I deliver his messages and he goes quietly to where he should."

"I hope it's some place nice. He was a good man," he repeated.

"I can't say where he'll go or whether he was nice; that's not for me to decide. But," he said, laying a twenty on the counter, "I've delivered his message." The door to the pawn shop flew open. "Keep the change."

"I'll owe you a favor now."

"And be sure that one day I'll collect—or someone I send," Byakuya said, turning to see the Evil Queen herself. Oh, good. This would be easier than he thought.

"Mayor Mills," Gold said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The way he said it made Byakuya think that the imp would rather swallow acid.

Regina smiled. It reminded Byakuya of a cat about to pounce on a mouse. "I heard we had ourselves a stranger. I'm Regina Mills, Mayor of Storybrook. Welcome to our little haven." She smiled again. "What kind of mayor would I be if I didn't greet our guest and offer a token gift? These apples come from my own tree and they're delicious."

"No, thanks. I'm not staying, so take your welcome elsewhere." He took the box that Gold handed him and started to walk around her to the door. He stopped before he got there and turned back. "I do have a message for you, however."

"A message? What sort of message?"

"From Graham, your late sheriff—or should I call him your erstwhile lover?"

Regina drew in a sharp breath, but smiled nonetheless. "I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you do. You know very well what I'm talking about." He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "But I don't care that you're a murderer. I'm just a messenger. Graham asked me to tell you..." He leaned down and said in her ear, "He asked me to tell you that you were a lousy lay."

Regina went pale as fury overtook her—how dare he? How dare he say such things!

"Graham would never say such things!" she seethed. She'd never heard Graham complain. Then again, she was the mayor and she made sure that he understood that he was expendable.

"And yet, that was his message to you," the man said, bored.

Lies—all lies. This man, this stranger, must be lying. She raised her hand to slap him for his lies; Byakuya caught her wrist before she could.

"That was a mistake," he said, his voice dangerous. She struggled to free herself because the man holding her wrist was quite simply a monster. He was too strong, too… powerful. More than she ever was—would be, could be. Old, centuries old, he'd honed his own power to a lethal force and was currently robbing her of her strength and leeching her of her power. Regina could literally feel it flow from her and into him, leaving her bereft and vulnerable. He leaned down again and said, "One day, madam. One day the residents here will put you out of your misery. One day. And when that day comes, I want to be the one to personally escort you to the Gates of Hell. I want to watch as they rob you of everything you are. Until then, I've delivered Graham's message."

Abruptly, he let her go; Regina stumbled back and stared at the man with rage and a hint of fear. It was that fear that he wanted and received. With a slight twist on his lips and nary a backward glance, Kuchiki Byakuya strolled out of Mr. Gold's Pawn Shop and disappeared, shedding his gigai and reappearing where Graham waited.

"I've fulfilled my end of the bargain," he announced. Knowing he'd ask, Byakuya said, "Mayor Mills in particular didn't love your comments."

"Saved her for last, did you? Well, I didn't think she would. It's time for me to fulfill my end of things. Do what you must; I won't fight you. It doesn't hurt, does it?"

"I don't know," Byakuya answered honestly. "It's different for every person."

"Then that'll have to do, I guess."

"Good hunting in the afterlife."

Graham smiled. "Thanks." The wolf trotted to his side and placed a hand on the beast's head. "Let's go, boy. Plenty of hunting to do when we get there. You must be hungry."

Drawing Senbonzakura, Byakuya stamped its hilt on the huntsman's forehead. The stamp pulsed once, sending a wave throughout Storybrook and light, ethereal, blue, and calming, filtered up from the ground and pierced the soul in front of him, consuming the late sheriff. As the light died down, the huntsman vanished into the ether.

"See?" Byakuya said to no one in particular. "You didn't go to hell after all."